A Quiet Enigma
by LaMomo
Summary: DONATED TO FANDOM FIGHTS THE FLOODS - 1840. Companion story for Everything I Knew Was Wrong, or The Long Road Home. As Edward Cullen is still in Jamaica, things take a few rocky developments back home in Cornwall. BPOV.


A/N: This is a companion piece to Everything I Knew Was Wrong (for friends, MoorWard) and it was written as a donation to Fandom Fights the Floods. Thank you to busymommy and AstonMartinVanquish for beta'ing this monster and to memphis1 for pre-reading and for the historical advice.

Summary: 1840. Companion story for Everything I Knew Was Wrong, or The Long Road Home. As Edward Cullen is still in Jamaica, things take a few rocky developments back home in Cornwall. BPOV.

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><p><em>Cornwall, March 1840<em>

I rode Dark Fire at a wild gallop, abandoning all thoughts of proper behaviour and ladylike postures. My faithful horse obliged, taking me right to the edge of the cliffs. There, with only the rumbling sea below me, I mused over my current predicament at Cullen Manor.

Emmett's late indiscretions were now past all remedy. Esme's pleading had been ineffectual. My own quiet reasoning, while I strived to be detached and objective, had gone equally unheeded. Then, the unexpected had come to fruition. Carlisle and Emmett, father and son, had engaged in a ruthless battle of wills, and their warring, conflicting threats had been their mutual undoing.

Emmett's spiteful accusations had angered and disappointed Carlisle. Ever a loving but stern father, he'd been destroyed by Emmett's poisonous stubbornness. In the face of Emmett's haughty assumption that his younger brother would choose him against his father, Carlisle had finally drawn the line and had banned his first-born from the house. He'd washed his hands of Emmett, only to be brought down by the unbearable weight of his own decision.

An implacable apoplexy has crushed him, and he'd been buried on a heather-covered hillside not a week earlier, Esme and I the two lone mourners. I had caught a glimpse of a cloaked figure in the distance, but it disappeared before I was sure it had actually been there.

This solitary ride was the first moment of peace I'd allowed myself since then. Esme had promised me she would lie down and rest this afternoon, and had encouraged me to take some respite from my usual chores around the house. Reluctantly, I'd given in to her plea. I was desperately in need of some exercise, and I longed for some peace and quiet amid the brisk sea air.

My long rides were the only activity that afforded me a modicum of tranquillity. I did not have to watch my words, nor be mindful of my demeanour. I could indulge in my more adventurous nature and in my rapt contemplation of the Cornish wilderness without falling under anyone's censure.

That was my covert motive for choosing this particular spot as my preferred destination. It was a windswept cliff top where I could hear the waves crashing against the steep, ragged cliffs below me. This was my safe haven, where I escaped every time I could no longer handle the tense atmosphere of Cullen Manor.

Lately, this had proven to be a frequent occurrence.

I loved Esme like a mother, and Emmett was the brother I'd never had. I'd loved Carlisle like a father, too. Nonetheless, this family feud had been a huge strain on everyone's nerves. Unpleasant things had been said and done all around and sometimes…for all their affection and generosity, I still felt like an outsider here.

Since I had moved to Cullen Manor, five years prior, I'd always felt like I was imposing on their loving kindness and, absolutely unwilling to spend my days in idleness, I helped around the household as much as I could. More often than not, Esme had to literally pry housework from my hands and beg me to just 'be', as she used to say.

From my perch on a mossy rock above the Falmouth cliffs, I watched the sun slowly sink into the sea and realised it was time for me to ride back to Cullen Manor. Even Dark Fire seemed to know it. The midnight black stallion slowly walked closer to me and pressed his muzzle into my side, whinnying lowly into my ears.

"Yes, my beauty. Let's go home." I smiled fondly at him, hitched myself onto the side-saddle and rode back at an easy canter.

As I approached the house, though, I saw a familiar figure running hurriedly towards me. "Miss Bella, Miss Bella, come quickly!"

Jonathan Jenks, Cullen Manor's long-time butler, was more of an institution than a mere servant – a trusted confidant, and almost a family member. He'd worked for the Cullens time out of mind and his long familiarity often afforded him a little more leeway than his station would normally have entitled him to. He'd given more than a good tongue-lashing to Emmett for his reckless ways. Unsurprisingly, the lad had not been impressed in the least and now all of us were suffering the consequences.

The uneasy, frantic look in his eyes and his shaky voice did not bode well at all.

"Quick as you like, lass!" he shouted as I got within hearing distance. "The missus, lass! It's the missus!"

Upon hearing Jenks's words, I nearly fell off Dark Fire as he came to a halt in front of Jenks, who promptly grabbed the reins to still the powerful stallion.

"Where is she?"

"Her room, child! Her room!"

"Doctor?"

"Paddy went to fetch the Newton boy. Go to her!"

I nodded, fear and anguish rendering me speechless. I ran up the stairs, Esme's condition the only concern on my mind. Anxiety and distress had taken a toll on her health lately and I'd been wary that it might be a question of time before the last of her strength eventually ebbed.

As I reached her side, she stretched her hand to grasp mine. Although I could clearly detect in her countenance that she was keeping up a good fight, I could feel that her grip was much weaker than normal.

"You just gave me quite a scare, Mama," I said soothingly.

"I'm just tired, there's nothing to worry about…but…"

I knew that she meant to say more. I knew that this bitter rift between Carlisle and Emmett had made the absence of her other children all more apparent and burdensome.

"You miss Alice…and…Edward, yes?"

Her green eyes, though shadowed by fatigue, turned lively again at the mention of her younger son.

"Still no reply to your letter, dearest?" she murmured.

I frowned involuntarily. "None, Mama."

She nodded with a pensive look on her face, as I covertly nursed my irritation. I had been hoping for an answer for weeks, but not a single line had come from Jamaica.

Rationally, I was blaming the unpredictable weather. I'd heard Esme complain about it for years, every time she'd longed for a letter from Edward. Secretly, though, I harboured the notion that Edward might not have taken too kindly to being approached on a family matter by a virtual stranger. My protestations with Esme had fallen on deaf ears. "Nonsense, child. You are family."

I'd never quite known just how much of my own history Esme had seen fit to share with Edward. Thus, I had no sensible counter-argument to Esme's reasoning, and had to accept her assurances, as I always did, based on her superior knowledge of her son. My own knowledge of him, though by no means scanty in itself, was only second-hand, since my sole source on all things pertaining to Edward – or Master Edward, as Jenks called him – was Esme herself.

She'd told me countless tales of her intelligent, brave and kind younger son who'd gone to seek fortune in the West Indies. I'd come to picture him as Esme's favourite child because of her evident pride and longing every time she spoke of him.

There was a full-length portrait of the Cullen brothers as children in the hallway, the sole token I'd ever had of Edward's appearance. In the painting, Emmett was sitting at one of the library bay windows, his curly dark hair framing his boyish features, his dark blue eyes displaying a familiar glint of mischief, a light-hearted smile gracing his face. His frame was sturdy and, even as a child, and seated, he seemed to tower over Edward, who was standing beside him.

Edward, on the other hand, had a poised, almost serious demeanour, shown in the strained line of his mouth and the controlled stance of his body. He looked slimmer and paler than Emmett, except for his unruly, longish bronze hair – whose unusual colouring he'd inherited from his mother – and his deep but lively green eyes. This man-child was a quiet enigma to me. Because of his stern expression, I'd always thought him more mature than Emmett, whose impetuous exploits had persisted well into adulthood. Carlisle had always regretted his absence, as much as Esme did, but seemed to have his own reasons, which he'd never seen fit to share with me, preferring to take them to his grave.

A gentle knock on the door startled me from my musings.

"Come in." I replied promptly.

The door opened and Jenks showed in Doctor Newton, the young village doctor.

"Doctor Newton, thank you for coming at such short notice. I hope we are not keeping you from your other rounds," I greeted him.

Doctor Newton approached the bed with a gentlemanly nod and replied, an easy smile on his lips, "Don't worry, Miss Isabella. I am not due anywhere at this time of day anyway. And now, how is our patient today?" he asked, turning to Esme.

Esme suddenly looked uneasy. She knew that Doctor Newton's youth did not go hand in hand with his medical shrewdness. He'd been a Navy surgeon for a couple of years, before being able to purchase his own practice on the mainland, and there was no way to downplay one's true condition around him. He saw through every kind of charade.

"I'm feeling very tired, Michael," she admitted, reluctantly.

Doctor Newton went about his routine checks, his expression concentrated and unwavering, until he nodded and hummed, before addressing Esme. "You will need to rest properly for several days, Mrs Cullen. You've over-exerted yourself and now you need to fully recuperate. I will make you a draught to help you sleep better, but other than that, you just need to be pampered."

She almost interrupted him to protest, but he held up a finger and continued, turning to me, "And I'm sure that Miss Isabella here understands my orders perfectly?"

"Of course, Doctor Newton."

He smiled again, with a little too much fervour than the situation might have called for, and replied again, "I thought I asked you to call me Michael, Miss Isabella?"

I blushed as I caught Esme's hint of a sly smile in the corner of my eye. I stammered through my answer. "Would…would you have time for a cup of tea, Doctor, while we leave Mama to her rest?"

The Doctor took his leave of Esme and followed me downstairs. When we were safely ensconced in the kitchen, I turned to Michael Newton and eyed him sternly.

"You might as well tell me the truth, Doctor. I have no illusions."

Doctor Newton cleared his throat, no doubt shaken by my unladylike frankness.

"Well…Isabella…I am not sure…"

"I will be Miss Isabella or Miss Swan to you, Doctor Newton." I knew my tone was harsh, but I needed him to understand in no uncertain terms that, until either Edward or Alice could be here, the burden would be mine alone to carry.

"Of course, Miss Isabella. Please, forgive me for taking such liberties. I will not do that again."

I nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. Shall we get back to the business at hand, please? Tell me what I should expect next."

Doctor Newton sighed and placed his teacup back on its saucer. His fingers steepled in front of him, his glasses perched high on the bridge of his nose, he assumed his professional persona and announced, "I will not deceive you, Miss Isabella. Her condition is serious and bound to deteriorate daily. It is a wasting sickness. I cannot tell you more, except that a painful path lies ahead for both of you."

I heaved an uneasy breath. I'd known and feared this much in my heart, but to hear it confirmed with such finality was another matter.

"Thank you for your honesty, Doctor."

"Miss Isabella…Miss Bella…please, I know this situation must be difficult for you…"

"I've written to Master Edward on Mama's behalf. We expect his return any day now," I cut him off quickly.

Had I lied? Not entirely. I only hoped I'd not fully lied to the kind, boring and lovelorn doctor I'd just turned down without so much as a second thought.

More than a fortnight had gone by and Esme's condition had not changed dramatically. This was the crux of the matter.

She had some really good days, when she would be able to sit up in bed and engage in conversation. I would spend those days by her bedside, reading to her, talking to her and simply taking care of her. Then she would have some really bad days, when she could hardly move or speak a word. There was no pattern to this, which meant that I never knew what to expect nor what the next day would bring. What I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt was that Esme was slowly and inexorably slipping through my fingers.

I was fighting alongside her with all my strength, pouring all of my love and dedication into every single gesture, so that she would feel it and hold her own until her son returned. The days wore on, the weeks even, as winter waned into spring, making sea-faring routes safer, yet there was still no word from Jamaica.

Esme held on to life with the force of a lioness, and I fought against time by her side. Seeing her like this was the utmost pain I'd ever witnessed and suffered in my short and uneventful life. Nonetheless, I never let any of this show through. I had to be strong for her until her children could be with her again. Until Edward could be with her again. Until that day, I would have a true place in this household. Until that day, I would still have my one true mother by my side.

When I'd finally tucked her in for the night, after checking that her pillows weren't making her uncomfortable, that the fire was still steady and that she had fresh water on her nightstand, I would retreat to my room. And there, in the silent darkness, I would cry myself to sleep every night.

One day in late April I felt confident enough of Esme's condition to leave her in the capable hands of her chambermaid for a few hours, so that I could go and take a walk outside. It wasn't a mere mindless stroll – I wanted to visit Carlisle's grave.

I had no inkling I would find someone else there. His monumental frame gave away Emmett's identity before he could sense my presence or I could timely decide to walk away undetected. I took an instant survey of my surroundings – there was no one else in the vicinity.

The small, forlorn graveyard stood empty and silent on the mossy hillside overlooking the Channel. Gravestones cast odd shadows at slanted angles, drawing strange patterns on the grass. I got lost in contemplation of the dark and sunny patches around me, when I heard him clear his throat. I raised my head to meet his gaze.

There was no graceful, noble retreat now – I could only stay and face him. I couldn't even ask him to leave – this wasn't Cullen Manor, this was no man's land. I couldn't deny him access to the parish graveyard.

"Bella, please. Don't leave," he murmured. The sight in front of me convinced me to grant him his wish. This was not the Emmett I was accustomed to. The once cheerful and overgrown boy now looked like a ghost, his expression pained and his eyes reddened by recent tears.

Emmett wasn't, as a rule, an overly emotional person. He had a boisterous personality, with the open laugh of a man who loved life recklessly and lived it as fully as possible, without a care in the world, but this was the customary extent of his passions. I'd never seen him hold a grudge or be prone to bouts of bad temper. He didn't nurse emotions for long, he rode their wave and then moved on. Thus, to find myself so suddenly and violently exposed to his raw pain was enough to rattle my confidence and some of my deep-rooted beliefs. Maybe, I had been sorely mistaken in picturing Emmett as the all-round villain in this woeful tale.

"I'm not leaving, Emmett, but I can't stay long." I didn't want to be obliged to offer news or details, either.

"Mother? How is she?" I eyed him warily. Of course he would know already. He'd lived in Falmouth his whole life, he didn't need to live in the house to receive first-hand news of home. I assumed he'd probably just talked to the Newton boy.

"Not good, Emmett, but she's fighting. You know her." The mere mention of Esme made him smile, his eyes lighting up. For a fleeting instant, I saw once again the boy I used to know. This was the carefree, dimpled child that graced the stately painting back at Cullen Manor.

"Bella, please, for her sake. Let me come home, let me visit. I could send Rosalie to help you."

At the mention of Miss Hale, my body went rigid with disdain and I felt my eyes shut down to avoid looking at him. This was underhanded. This was the foulest kind of blackmail on his part. Again, I found myself an involuntary pawn in the dealings of the Cullen clan. I sighed in exasperation. It had to stop.

"No, Emmett. Don't you even dare contemplate it! How can you put me in such a position? Do you honestly think I would disregard Carlisle's wishes like this? Who am I to make such a decision?"

The weight of my own questions broke me down to the point that I could no longer rein in my sobs. Emmett's hand reached out for mine, but I flinched away from his touch.

"This is the extent of the damage you've done, Emmett. You'll have to live with it."

"Aye," he answered, with a strained murmur.

That night turned out to be one of those bad, fretful nights. Esme was touchy and restless. I was exhausted – my confrontation with Emmett had put a severe chink in my armour, but I knew that I had to keep my wits about me for Esme's sake. Old Jenks knew something was brewing. He kept casting inquisitive glances in my direction whenever he thought I wouldn't notice.

It was well past my usual bedtime, even though I no longer had any regular habits now – what with Esme's condition being so unstable – when I heard an indistinct racket from downstairs. Cautiously, I checked Mama to see that she was enjoying a fleeting moment of peaceful sleep, and slipped toward the hallway to ensure that she would remain undisturbed a while longer.

I leaned over the banister, my weary eyes squinting in the near-darkness to find the source of the noises that disturbed the late night quiet. I recognised old Jenks's gruff voice, and he was talking to someone. The stranger's voice sounded much younger, impatient and blunt. Still, there was a controlled melody to this voice that made it mesmerising. This was no visitor.

"Jenks, what is the commotion at this late hour? It's making Mama uneasy…" I finally asked, silently descending the stairs, until my gaze fell on the scene before me.

A tall figure was standing in the hall, arguing with Jenks. Upon hearing my voice, his face automatically turned in my direction and I was met with a most unexpected sight.

The man-child from the portrait had unmistakably come home, only the child was now long gone. This man had nothing childish about him. His powerful frame towered over Jenks, further shadowing the faintly lit hall. He wasn't as burly as Emmett, but he stood there, sinewy and muscled, and yet managed to look lean and athletic, his energy radiating from him as if he could spring at the first sign of a fight. This was a man of action – there were scant traces left of the bookish child that Esme remembered so fondly, though his unruly hair was still there. When his eyes finally landed on mine, I could no longer hear Jenks's words in the background. I was lost in his deep, bright emerald eyes and in the chiselled planes of his sun-kissed skin.

"Miss Isabella, Master Edward has come home," Jenks said.

My strength waned, and I felt two strong arms catch me as I fell.

"Thank God you are here."

It would have been a shameful understatement to say that Edward's arrival had not shocked me. The effigy and the man, the idea and the person – both resulted in the same unfathomable enigma to me.

I had fully expected his authoritative ways – Cullen Manor was, for all intents and purposes, his home. What left me sorely at a loss were, on the other hand, his constant and sudden mood swings.

In the handful of hours since I'd known him, he'd swept me through a whole array of emotions. He'd been dubious, surprised, kind, haughty, insecure, demanding, resentful and borderline disrespectful. Esme had finally drawn a line at those antics, promptly scolding him for his less than gentlemanly behaviour.

There was a common denominator to Edward's reactions, though – his unwavering, all-encompassing intensity. He was a passionate man whom, I believed, never did anything halfway.

His impetuous retorts had confused me at first. There was an undertone I did not like and that I could not dismiss lightly. He never quite voiced his assumptions, but he always made a point of implying that I was not part of the family and that, for all I might have learnt about the family during my stay at Cullen Manor, none of it was my business after all. At one point I'd even suspected he was treating Jenks with more familiarity and respect than he'd ever bestow upon me.

On the morrow of Edward's arrival, I shared my concerns with old Jenks himself while we were sharing a very early and very frugal breakfast in the kitchen.

"Maybe he just thinks you're family and I'm the hired help, Jenks. Or at least he acts that way. I wonder how Mama would like that, though…" I finished, with a sly chuckle, as I cleared my plates away from the table.

Jenks answered with his own full belly laugh. "Lad just doesn't know what hit him, child. About time, too, if you ask me."

My brow furrowed in confusion. I did not understand Jenks's reasoning at all but then again, it wasn't the first time he made some cryptic remark that I had no way of construing.

"Now don't go marring your pretty face, lassie. Go tend to your flowerbeds."

I finished sipping my tea, still eyeing Jenks with a sceptical look over the rim of my teacup. "If you say so, Jenks…"

"Aye, child. I do. Humour this old fool…"

I moved to the back door and lifted the latch. "I'll be in the orchard…"

Gardening was a pleasure more than a chore to me. I loved spending time outdoors. The peace, quiet and ever-changing landscape of the gardens soothed my thoughts. I also loved taking care of the garden as a living entity that I could discipline into a dozen different shapes and colours, until the warmth and the sun would see it bloom to its full potential.

Spring always meant that there was a lot of work to be done in the gardens. Since Esme's illness, I'd begun rearranging my chores around her daily routine. I would work in the early morning and then join her at about lunchtime.

I'd been potting plants and arranging saplings in the flowerbeds when I felt a presence looming over me. I was not alone. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of blazing emerald gazing down on me followed by a deep, musical voice whose familiarity surprised me, given our recent acquaintance.

"Miss Isabella, good morning." His tone was polite, but strained. Inexplicably, I wondered how in the world I was able to pick up on such a faint, implied shade of meaning after so short an acquaintance.

I decided to forgo the awkwardness and treat him just like Esme would want me to. "Good morning, Mister Cullen. Have you been offered some breakfast yet?" I asked, standing up to join him.

I suddenly felt uneasy. I'd been caught, after all, with my hands covered in dirt, with my sleeves rolled up to my elbows while I worked on a battered flowerbed. It wasn't incredibly ladylike or refined of me but then again, things had always been rather relaxed and informal at Cullen Manor. Esme loved to say that unnecessary formalities were nothing but stifling.

Apparently, Edward did not agree, because his jaw tensed as he glared at me and asked, "How long has this been going on, Miss Isabella?"

He wanted to know. Of course, he wanted to know. He had every right to, and I was the wretched soul who'd been burdened with the gruesome and painful task.

Again, my love for Esme and my sense of family duty had tricked me into agreeing to her pleas. I couldn't refuse Esme, but she had no way of knowing how much these requests were becoming unbearable demands to me, entangling me more and more into the family feud.

This proved to be an ugly confrontation, its only unstrained moment being the few minutes I set aside to defuse Edward's unease by finally dispensing formalities between us. The conversation quickly became a brutal ordeal, as Edward's volatile moods shifted with each of his retorts, his handsome face marred first by doubt, then concern, betrayal and lastly…unrestrained anger.

Hopelessly, reluctantly, I watched him lose control and unravel his frustrations before me. I wanted to help him and yet I knew I couldn't. First, because he needed to get all of his pent-up feelings against Emmett out in the open. Second, because a nagging feeling told me he wouldn't want my help.

I was forced to relate to him the sheer selfishness of Emmett's actions. I was a stranger to him and yet I knew the inner workings of his family better than he did. I could understand the full force of his resentment, since being an outsider was something I'd know first-hand from a very early age and, whilst my joining the Cullen household had granted me a hearth and a loving family, I would always feel like a guest, despite everything and everyone. It was in my nature to think that this good fortune was all but temporary – my unworthiness, on the other hand, had been ingrained into my brain by my birth mother's harsh ways.

There was no way I could defend Emmett's behaviour with Edward. How could I, when I had been an aggrieved witness to his foolishness and I was still painfully aware of the far-reaching consequences of his dalliance with Miss Hale? I could not fathom how a devoted son could turn into such a spoiled, self-centred man, ruled by his urges to the dire extent that he'd shun his own family in the process.

Edward grew more and more incensed with every syllable I spoke and yet, I could not bring myself to wander away from him, nor to shirk from the responsibility of '_telling him everything_'. I'd promised Mama, and I would keep my word.

By the end of my woeful account, Edward was overcome by his fury, cursing his brother, his father and the cruelty of this predicament.

"Ouch! Damn it all to hell and back!" he growled, as he mashed his powerful fist into a tree nearby.

That had to hurt. For all the strength he could muster, there was not way he could punch a centenarian tree and walk away unharmed. Perhaps now I could be of help to him.

Cautiously, without saying a word, I approached him and boldly took his damaged hand in mine. I told myself that I wasn't doing anything wrong, merely tending to his injuries, and that thought momentarily eased my natural shyness.

I shook my head while I inspected the damage and felt Edward's body still trembling with barely contained rage at my side. With a fleeting thought, I wondered why I should be so acutely aware of his presence and his moods. I cleansed the bruise and the cuts with my handkerchief as best I could. His hand would need proper attention, though, lest it should fester.

While I continued tending his wound, I felt him slowly relax under my touch, his irritation abandoning in violently crashing waves. The analogy of this struck me with the force of lightning. I could not let his uncertainties and anxieties linger on, because they would fester in his heart like the cuts on his bruised knuckles. It was best to purge everything out, and then let the wound be cauterised and heal in its own time.

So, I resumed my tale as he let me take care of him. I surmised that, if I let him see my own pain too, he'd probably feel less excluded. I was sorely wrong. He finally unleashed his unbridled rage on me, too.

"…The last straw was that you did nothing to prevent this!"

I was shaking with fear, but I couldn't let him break me. I talked back.

"…The last straw was when Emmett shouted at Carlisle that you would've understood, that you would've supported him. The vaguest possibility, however slim, of both his sons turning their back on him, was too much for your father. The stroke was inevitable."

I was wrong. Edward was not ready to acknowledge anyone else's pain yet. He was too wrapped up in his own torment.

"Leave me alone."

After that, I helped him in the only way I could. I obeyed his order. I left him alone. I completely ostracised myself from his presence, except to take care of Esme.

The sickroom, as much as the graveyard, was no man's land, where Edward's tantrums had no jurisdiction. Esme's comfort was my only concern. And, out of concern for her, again, I gave her my word on a promise I was certain I would be unable to keep.

On her last good night before the final downfall, as Edward's sleeping figure loomed on the window ledge of Esme's bedroom, crumpled in an impossibly uncomfortable stance, Esme talked to me with the last of her breath and lured me in, once again, with her love, with her sweetness.

"He will be so lost…" I nodded, wordlessly, holding her cold hand in mine.

"Will you watch over my child for me, Bella?" Mistakenly, I thought she was now referring to Alice.

"Of course I will take care of my sister, Mama."

Weakly, she shook her head. "No, sweetheart. Not Alice. Will you watch over him, over my Edward, for me?"

I could never resist Esme's entreaties, much less now.

"Edward doesn't want me to…" I whispered, trying to hide my unease.

"Edward is a stubborn boy. Please, watch over him. He always works so hard, he needs someone…so that he won't be alone…with his thoughts. Please, child."

"I will, Mama."

Everything went black and blurry for a week. I felt numb and lonely. I felt broken but I could not cry – not when Alice needed me, not when I was supposed to watch over a grown man who didn't even want to acknowledge my presence in the household.

Everything around me was numb, painful and darkened by grief, until that same man gripped my hand and, amid a throng of mourners in their appointed black crepe attire, in the deep, velvety voice that mesmerised me so much, whispered two words that sent my world on a spinning wheel.

"Be safe."

Wasn't it supposed to be the other way round? Wasn't I supposed to be watching over him instead? And yet, here he was, worried about me, as I set out to help him fight one of his battles.

"Be safe."

I felt relief wash over me. I was no longer numb.

Jasper wanted to take me away to London. To a stately, cold and empty house that had never been a home to me.

"How can you not see this, Little One? The impropriety of this…" He tried to convince me, his logical brain stymied by my own resolve.

"That's not home to me, Jasper. This is home. I can't leave."

Jazz looked at me with a stern, sceptical brow. "Why not? Is it because of Alice?"

I didn't want to talk to Jasper about this. I knew he would try to dissuade me. The fact that he was bringing Alice into the conversation only told me that he was slowly, relentlessly getting to the point, in his own roundabout way. He liked to analyse all sides to a story. Still, his reasons for mentioning Alice were quite obscure to me.

"I gave my word to Esme. I'm not leaving."

"I won't have you living under the same roof with a bachelor of six-and-twenty. What if he marries? This house would need a mistress. What if he goes back to Jamaica? You would be left behind, alone. No, Isabella. You will return to London with me."

Jasper was truly thinking he could have his way. What he didn't understand, though, was that wild horses couldn't drag me away from Cullen Manor. I had given my word and, besides that, I had an enigma to unravel.

Why was I suddenly thinking this? Why was the thought of staying in Cornwall with Edward becoming more alluring, with each passing day? Surely it wasn't just my rebellious nature that was pushing me, relinquishing my common sense and leading me to challenge Jasper's authority in the matter.

"No, Jasper. I gave my word to Mama. That's final."

Jasper heaved an uneasy, strained sigh. "And that should take precedence over family?"

I rose to my feet, walking away from him. "Esme is family."

"I could make you leave though. You are not of age for three more months."

He had a point. Carlisle had been appointed my legal guardian on my parents' death, because Jasper was not of age himself. Now things were different. With Carlisle gone, and my twenty-first birthday only months away, I never thought that Jasper would enforce his legal prerogatives, believing instead that we would work our way around them in a civilised way. There was no material reason for things to change. Once again, I was wrong. Jasper was seeing potential conflicts and improprieties in my current predicament at Cullen Manor and would not hesitate to call the rule of law to have his way.

No doubt, he was also trying to lord his role as legal guardian over me to try and test my resolve. Suspicion slowly crept in – why would he act on what I considered to be just a formality? A short-lived formality that would be null and void in the bare space of three months?

"You wouldn't, Jasper," I seethed, now all the more inclined to stay behind in Cornwall and let my stately home in Grosvenor Square go hang.

"Don't force my hand, Isabella. Does Mister Cullen even want you here?" he said, seething. Was impropriety Jasper's only concern in keeping me away from Cullen Manor?

Still, unwittingly, he'd given me an opening. "Well, I'd better go ahead and ask him. What do you think?"

I bided my time for two days. At first, I hoped that Jasper would just return to his estate in Warwickshire and leave me alone, but my cousin was not inclined to pass up an opportunity to make a full survey of my habits at Cullen Manor, nor to try and irritate Edward with his very presence.

Edward was stubbornly spending his days walled up in the library. I hardly ever saw him, except at the dinner table. He couldn't well forgo all rules of common courtesy and behave like a hermit when there was a guest in the house.

Meanwhile, Alice, Jasper and I had taken to spending most of our days together. Alice and Jasper got along nicely, and this gave me hope. If Jasper got to know the rest of the family, he would probably better understand why I felt the need to stay.

Alice incessantly sought to convince me to return to London with her. She still had a couple of weeks before she completed her education, and was eager to be free of her commitments just as the season in London was due to start. I refused to accompany her, stating that balls and dinner parties held no fascination for me. Jasper didn't comment on my statement, but I felt his reproachful stare on me the whole time. He believed that a young lady of my standing should be ready and willing to occupy her station in society and that she should move in the right circles to achieve that end.

I cared little about my station and much less about society. I longed for wild horse rides on the ragged cliffs of Falmouth, feeling the wind in my hair and the sun on my skin, but I could not possibly tell this to either Jasper or Alice. They would not understand my desires.

Was there someone at Cullen Manor who possibly could? It was time to face my enigma and find out.

On the third day since my confrontation with my cousin, I left Alice and Jasper strolling through the garden on the pretence that Jenks needed my opinion on a housekeeping matter and, instead, I made my way to the library. I was sure that I would find Edward there, sitting at Carlisle's desk, poring over his papers. I knocked once, then twice, when his voice quietly bade me to enter.

His face was haggard. He still had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was a mess. He'd been surely raking his fingers through it for hours on end, debating over God knew what. He sat back in his chair to welcome me, an indecipherable look on his face, laced with coldness, detachment and…regret?

I decided that his distance would not let me falter. I was doing this for Esme. I began my speech like Jasper would, in a roundabout way.

"Jasper and I have talked much these last few days," I said, keeping my voice level and my eyes on the floor. I couldn't muster the strength to look at him directly.

"You seem to be very close," he replied, his tone bordering on cold resentment. I could not fathom the reasons why he wouldn't make an effort to get along with Jasper.

My explanation that Jasper and I had grown up together was met with utter indifference. I decided it was time to make Jasper's intentions known.

"He wants me to return to London with him and live with his family."

This did get a reaction from him. The sheet of paper he was holding fell immediately on the desk, scattered among dozens of others. His fingers drummed unsteady rhythms on the oaken table. His eyes rose to stare at me, full of shock and anger. For a fleeting moment, I was afraid of him. Afraid of his intensity.

"How so?"

Those were his scarce, controlled words when he spoke. How he could feel so much, and rein it all in, was still a mystery to me. It was time for me to embark on an embarrassing explanation.

"He feels it would be more proper for me to…live in a different household."

I was trying my best to explain Jasper's reasoning without giving Edward the impression that there had been any concerns on his part as to the propriety of Cullen Manor. I was also most keen to distance myself from Jasper's opinion as much as I could.

I was growing more and more insecure regarding Edward's real thoughts on the matter. Maybe he didn't want me to stay at Cullen Manor. Maybe I was nothing but an inconvenience to him. Surely he wanted to sail back to his sunny plantation in Jamaica. Maybe he cared very little about what would happen back home. Maybe he didn't care at all whether or not I stayed.

The crux of the matter was that there was no polite way for me to ask him this, while conforming to the confines of propriety. How could I ask that of him? How could I uphold my own promise to his mother? Would he even believe me?

Jasper's arguments were uneasily creeping back into my mind. I needed to know what Edward was thinking.

"I think…I think I should leave," I finally whispered.

I needed to know, and I needed him to tell me of his own accord. I desperately needed to get a reaction out of him. And why was the thought of leaving becoming increasingly unbearable to me?

Countless minutes passed in a strained, uneasy silence. My eyes darted around the room, unable to settle on anything, much less look directly at Edward. Finally, I head his chair scrap against the floorboards.

He stood and walked around the table. I could feel him in front of me, more than see him. I felt the warmth of his presence. I felt his frame towering over me. I felt his eyes on me, and I couldn't look away.

I met his gaze, and was instantly lost. I'd never seen such a look on Edward's face before. There were no words to describe it. I had no frame of reference for it. I got lost in his blazing emerald gaze, and let myself be drowned by a raging tide of nameless emotions.

Then, the unexpected happened. His hands landed with a passionate, yet gentle grasp on my shoulders. Of his own free will, Edward was touching me. He was touching me, not because he was helping me off the floor. He was touching me, not because common courtesy called for it. He was touching me because he wanted to. My heart leapt in my chest.

Were my emotions still nameless?

"Is this really what you want?" he asked, his velvety, mesmerising voice luring me in like an enchantment.

"I'll leave with Jasper. I won't inconvenience you any longer."

I didn't believe a word I was saying, but I had little choice. Conflict raged within me. Jasper would surely be a fiend to contend with if I stayed. Edward would probably be in a fury if I left. I was being torn in two, frozen between conflicting loyalties. Abiding by my word had never seemed so selfish as it did now.

Again, Edward's intensity burned me right to my core. His gaze held all the answers to the questions I'd been mulling over in my head for days. His eyes were bright with acceptance, with passion and…hope?

I couldn't take my eyes off him. He towered over me, his frame encasing my figure even though he barely touched me. Yet, I had never felt so intimate with anyone before. His hands began running soothing circles on my shoulders, just as I had done that day, back in the orchard, while tending to his bruised knuckles.

He was taking care of me.

'_Be safe_,' I heard his whispered warning again in my head, as he repeated his earlier question aloud, his voice a soothing, seductive murmur that washed over me like a lullaby.

"Is this really what you want?"

I could no longer maintain my façade up. I didn't want to leave, and it was unfair of me to trick him into believing that I would. I immediately felt guilty, because I thought I was hurting him. I feared he'd be disappointed with me. I could not find the strength to speak, though, and resorted to shaking my head to answer his plea.

"I…I…this is no longer home to me…"

My rational brain worked against me, and was voicing suspicions and fears that did not belong to me. Jasper's reasoning tainted my thoughts, blurring my judgment. My mind was protecting my heart from getting hurt. My mind wanted to prevent my heart from being left behind again. Could I trust Edward not to leave me behind?

Wordlessly, with his actions, he understood my conflict and eased my mind. His hands left my shoulders and I felt their absence at once. He'd left a trail of fire in the wake of his touch. The same trail of fire I was feeling now, as he interlocked his hands with mine. His tanned, strong and sinewy hands were engulfing my minuscule, white and thin ones. He gripped my fingers once again and I held his hands in mine tighter.

Fleetingly, I imagined Jasper walking in on us at this moment. There was no doubt in my mind whom I would choose now.

Nonetheless, I couldn't help thinking that this was…new and unexpected. This passionate, uncontrolled behaviour from Edward was crossing lines that I never even knew existed. I was anxious, hopeful and excited at the same time, finding in my heart of hearts that I wanted to cross those lines with him.

I blushed.

"No. You won't go with Jasper. You will stay here."

"Edward?" His name seemed to be all the reaction I could muster.

Something changed in Edward's demeanour. He looked determined, fierce, possessive.

"You won't leave my side ever again. I can't imagine a life without you."

I blinked and then, when my eyes landed on him again, I saw it. I saw a light and fire in his eyes that I'd never seen, and that fire gave me hope. I didn't want Edward sulking, ambling his way through life because of his anger and his losses. I wanted him to live his life to the fullest, with his all-encompassing intensity and his frightening passion. The fire told me that it would be possible for me to stay and witness that fullness come to fruition.

I smiled, for the first time since all hell had broken loose.

"Yes, Edward. I will stay."

* * *

><p>AN: I do hope this gives you an interesting peek into Isabella's mind, and something to look forward to in the upcoming chapters of MoorWard. I can't say, as of now, whether Isabella will make a reappearance farther along the road. Who knows...

Thank you for reading.


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